


Role Playing

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [16]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's fancy dress night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Role Playing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautifullights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullights/gifts).



Kylo wasn’t entirely sure why a bunch of inebriated pilots felt the need to dress up as other people on a semi-regular basis; he also wasn’t sure if it was just pilots who did it. He’d engaged in some ‘role playing’ in _private_ with Poe, but this seemed to be some way to air your dirty laundry in front of everyone. In some cases, semi-literally.

His first idea had been to come as a Wookie, and he’d suggested borrowing Chewie’s bandolier. Poe had asked what else he would wear, and Kylo had said ‘nothing’, and Poe’s mouth had watered until Kylo said: _nothing else Wookie, Poe, I’m not going in just a bandolier so all your pilots can ogle me_.

After that, he’d scrapped the idea entirely. Poe kept making jokes about growling in bed, and Kylo realised he was never living it down. 

Instead, he played it sort-of-safe. And self-referential. In secret (unless someone ratted on him) he’d acquired a pilot’s jumpsuit in his size. Mostly. He had refused to go for detailed fittings, and pilots tended to be smaller to fit in cockpits. Anyway, the _starfighter_ pilots did. The orange looked stupid on his pale skin, and the helmet was not as restrictive as his old one, but he still felt awkward as all hell when he walked out to see what Poe’s surprise was.

And - no surprise - Poe was dressed as a Jedi. Brown robes and everything. Fake, collapsible, glowing saber toy at his waist. 

“Looks like we’re swapping tonight, huh?” Poe asked.  


“I don’t dress like that.”  


“But you used to. And damn, I was going to ask you to ‘show me the power of the Dark Side’ all night. Now it looks like I need to make flying ‘stick’ jokes.”  


“Or you could just act normally.”  


“…that is normal for me, babe.”  


It was, and that was the problem.

***

Kylo was surprised by how many of the male pilots dressed as women. They weren’t feminine about it, either. They acted like their normal selves, just… in feminine clothing. It was surreal, but also somewhat fascinating. He could write papers on the alter-egos of X-Wing squadrons, if they didn’t stop bumping into him and laughing at his choice of clothes.

It was positive laughter, though. And more than a few of them tried weak attempts at chat up lines that were self-referential, reminding him that pilots could normally walk into cantinas and walk out with whoever they wanted on their arms. It just made Kylo want to run away with Poe all over again, so he got himself resoundingly drunk on punch, and tried not to wince at the woman dressed up like his father. Thankfully, no one was being her Chewie. 

There were at least two Sith Lords, and Poe at one point had a battle with both at the same time. Kylo admired Poe’s form, even drunk and with a ‘blade’ that could bend, and eventually he went over and said ‘pew, pew’ when he shot the two Sith and stole Poe back for himself.

The Sith did, at least, die dramatically. And then started making out. 

“You tired?” Poe asked, rubbing up affectionately against him. ‘Tired’, in that sense, meant ‘ready to go home and have mad, role-reversed sex’, probably.  


“Yes,” Kylo said, to the second meaning, and not the first.  


Drunken kisses and Poe loudly made the worst excuse possible and Kylo threw him over his shoulder in disgust. Poe was giggling like mad and accusing him of perverting a pure and chaste Jedi, and Kylo wanted him _home_ even faster.

***

That was a mistake. After making out on their bed for a while, with less talking than he expected, Poe sat up and started to undress for him.

Which should have been great. Except for the part where - robes pooling around him - Poe knelt proudly between his legs.

Wearing… wearing… it was gold. And it was barely there. Strands and cups and flimsy fabric in a crude approximation of a slave bikini. Poe hadn’t even shaved, and the treasure-trail under his navel vanished into the skimpy loincloth. His chest wasn’t adequate to fill the ridiculous cups, but he still shimmied his hips like he could dance for Jabba.

Kylo grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s the matter, babe?”   


Poe knew full fucking well what the matter was, even as he pried down the pillow, looking half-innocent, half-more-wicked-than-the-Emperor.

“I am never, _ever_ having **sex with you** \- _again_.”   


“What?”  


“You’re dressed like - like my MOTHER!”  


“Yeah, well, she was my hero.”  


“POE! She’s my MOTHER. I should strangle _you_ with the damn chain!”

“Ooooh.” Poe didn’t sound suitably upset by the idea.  


“NO.”  


“Well… you could always _undress me_ ,” Poe suggested, standing up and putting his hands in his hair to dance enticingly. He wiggled and pouted, and Kylo grabbed the pillow again.  


“Undress yourself, before you ruin my libido forever,” he snapped.  


“Whatever you say… Master.”  


He could hear the damn wink. And he was going to kill his husband, he really was. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I know you probably wanted this serious, but Kylo outright refused. Shadow_Side helped more than a little with what Poe would dress up as FIRST... Ahem.


End file.
